Narrator 1: The post office is at the center of it all. Quite literally. It is the centerpoint of Stationary Hill: a strange, sprawling, warehouse-y kind of a building right in the middle of town. It’s topped by a massive communications mast: this giant, spindly scaffold of a tower from which there stretches an interminably long black cable, reaching off skyward. 

Narrator 3: It’s super obvious; you cannot miss it. And it’s a busy place this morning. Inside 

the warehouse, meandering between towering racks of freight, piles of crates, imported goods, and innumerable parcels, a winding line of people are waiting for their mail. 

Narrator 2: At the very front of the line, is Mr. Weepe—about to receive his daily shipment. The postmaster floats weightlessly down from a high altitude shelf, package in hand. (And yes, the postmaster floats.) 

3: (More on that later.) 

2: —and hands the parcel over. “NEXT!” he yells. And Mr. Weepe turns to go, cheerfully toting his parcel under one arm. Yes, Mr. Weepe has got a good day ahead of him. A VERY good day. A very good WEEK, too, as a matter of fact. A great MONTH, even, while we’re at it. Honestly, just between us, the rest of Mr. Weepe’s DAYS, period, are on track to be mighty prosperous. He is gonna do very well for himself. His future is very bright. There is NO quantity of anguish on the road ahead for him. No MISERY. No hatred, no violence. Absolutely no RUIN. 

3: Provided, of course, that he DOESN’T bump into this round, smiling, matronly little woman who unexpectedly emerges from a doorway… just there. 

2: Aaaaand… he does. Oops. 

1: Yep. Never mind. He’s totally fucked. 

[Theme music]

1: There has been a collision. He, steadying himself, grasps her shoulders. She grasps his long, lanky, spidery elbows. They regard each other, eye to eye. She, smiling. Him, grimacing dangerously. But then his grimace transforms into a pleasant smile as well, setting her at ease. 

2: He’s fairly certain there wasn’t a door here yesterday. Well, okay, the doorway WAS 

here yesterday, but it WASN’T there the day before. It IS pretty new; it’s got those rough, unfinished, plywood-looking edges. This is something under construction in this area of the post office. 

3 (as the unidentified woman) “Oh, my! I beg your pardon! I’m so sorry! How clumsy of me to have run into you, sir!” 

1 (as Moc Weepe): “No, no, no, I really must insist: I think that it was me. Look, I’m just on my way out. I didn’t mean to bump into you there. Is everything alright? Are you severely injured? Do you require any immediate medical treatment, possibly?” 

2 (as the woman); “Oh, my, so gallant! No, I’m perfectly fine. I’m Imelda, by the way. Imelda Goldfinch.” And she extends a soft, powdered little hand. 

1: Let’s have a look at her in the way that we do. 

[Sudden silence: the hubbub of the post office fades as we focus closely on Imelda Goldfinch.] 

2: In case you’re imagining your grandma or something, which we couldn’t fault you for, but she doesn’t quite look like that. She’s got these quaffed little Pollyanna curls and a tastefully made-up face. She’s aware of her age. She’s not trying to look younger. She’s short and 

very energetic. Her whole body is just vigorous, and she’s got a very businesslike blazer on. Kind of a pant-suit with enormous shoulder pads. Also, the entire blazer is covered in 

what looks like sequins. 

1: ARMORED sequins, to be specific. Glassy panels of something sort of metallic or even

vaguely—what’s the word—geologic? 

3: Scale-like. 

2: In addition to all that, she also has a sash hung from shoulder to hip that is even more sparkly. It’s composed entirely of these dazzling white beads. VALOR beads. Mr. Weepe recognizes them at once. 

1: Oh. She’s one of THOSE people. He registers instantly. This sets him ever so slightly ill-at-ease. 

[The bustle and traffic of the post office returns.] 

2: She’s still dimpling up at him merrily. 

2 (as the woman, Imelda Goldfinch): “I will be Stationary Hill’s new Notary. And who are you?” 

2 (Weepe): “Oh, me?” he says, slightly taken aback, unprepared for this interrogation. He 

really was just about to leave, and now here she is. She’s still clutching his elbows, by the way. She really just has her hooks on him. He looks her up and down. “Weepe,” he says. “The name is Weepe.” 

2 (Goldfinch): “Oh! No! Not… the…the MAYOR?” 

1 (Weepe): “Oh, yeah, that’s me! I’m Mr… wait, what did you say? You think I’m the mayor?” 

2 (Goldfinch): “They mayor! Yes, I… why, I’m certain that I overheard some… some townsfolk talking about Mr. Moc Weepe, the mayor of Stationary Hill. Isn’t that you?” 

1 (Weepe): “Oh, no, no, no, that—” 

2 (Goldfinch): “Imagine us bumping into each other like this!” 

1 (Weepe): “Oh, yes, that’s—” 

2 (Goldfinch): “And on my second day here! The luck!”

1 (Weepe): “That’s very—” He’s trying… he can’t… he is still just sort of sputtering, trying to say things, but she just keeps TALKING. The poor woman just will NOT shut up. She’s STILL clinging to his elbow, so he… you know what? This is fine. He just continues to grip her shoulders. They’re just sort of standing here, half hugging in front of this half-closed, mysterious brand-new doorway while traffic is jammed all around them. People are trying to get around. People are saying [as a gruff post office patron] “HEY, uh, excuse me… trying to… can we… can we get through here, please?” 

2 (as another post office patron): “Uhhh… are you in line?” 

1: They’re not hearing this because they are just embracing each other. Staring at each other, maintaining stupendous, sort of frantic eye contact. 

3 (Goldfinch): “You know, what luck!” Imelda says, beginning to guide Moc Weepe away from the crowd, away from the thronging voices behind them. 

1 (Weepe): “Oh, yeah, this is surely one of the more fortuitous things that has happened to me before 9 o’clock a.m.” 

2 (Goldfinch): “Who better to show me around Stationary Hill than the mayor? If you have time, that is. I don’t mean to impose. But could you?” 

1 (Weepe): “Well, I have two things to say about that,” he says, at last prying his grip loose from her shoulders and brushing himself off and straightening his tunic. 

2: She releases her clutch on his elbow. 

1 (Weepe): “All this shit that’s been built over here? I assume that… what’s been going on over there for the last few weeks… that’s gonna be your new place?” 

3 (Goldfinch): “My Mission!” she says, clasping her hands together. 

1 (Weepe): “Oh, yeah, I heard there was gonna be one of those being put in over here. I didn’t realize they’re gonna put it in the middle of the post office. But, uh…” 

2 (Goldfinch:) “Well, you know, what better place—” Imelda continues, “—than the very center of town? I want to make it easy for people to get to. To… to make it part of their daily routine! To stop by and discuss any Trust business that they may have with me.”

1 (Weepe): “Well, you know, there aren’t very many people around these parts, Miss Imelda, that, uh, are actually TRUSTEES like you.” 

2 (Goldfinch) “Oh, yes, yes, yes. And that’s only to be expected in a settlement that doesn’t even have a Mission yet.” 

1 (Weepe): “Well, it does now! Look at that!” 

2 (Goldfinch): “I expect although that will turn right around once my business is up and running.” 

1 (Weepe): “Oh, yes! Well, you know what? There’s something we have in common, here, 

Imelda.” Mr. Weepe, uh… clutches her shoulder again. He’s trying to steer her out of traffic; this woman is just barricading ALL of the incoming and outgoing people here in the post office. He begins to propel her with muscular vigor. He’s not a very muscular man. But in this case, this is a goddamn emergency. He is moving her OUT of the post office. People are clamoring to get around her. 

2: She’s like a bejeweled rhino! 

1 (Weepe): “You know, just to clarify that (what you said a minute ago)… I am a business owner. I’m not a mayor. I think a lot of people joke that I am the mayor of Stationary Hill because I am kind of a busybody!” 

2 (Goldfinch): “Oh!” 

1 (Weepe): “I involve myself in everybody’s things. But, no, I’m not really the mayor. There’s really no mayor. You know, Kozma Laszlo owns Midst. So if anybody’s the mayor, it’s her. So, if anything, you might say that I, in different circumstances, would be the boy that 

WOULD be mayor. Huehuehue! [Laughter.]” 

2 (Goldfinch): “Oh! [Giggling.]” 

1: They exit the post office. He, holding on to her shoulder in his vice-like grip, steers her, BENDS her out of the doorway into the harsh unlight of Midst’s morning.

2: Where she is more sparkly than ever. 

1: People come pouring out like a popped champagne cork or something, breathlessly and gratefully exiting the post office. 

[Town ambience: foot traffic, otherworldly wildlife, and distant construction and sounds of industry.] 

3: And the clamor and business of Stationary Hill surround them. Buildings being constructed up and down the street. Trolleys burdened with packages, moving up and down the sinewy road that travels along the spine of the hill. 

2: The Mission in the post office annex is not the only thing in Stationary Hill that’s under 

construction. Not by a long shot. In fact, at least 50% of the town is under construction. Still pretty new here, if we didn’t get that across. 

1: Mr. Weepe is desperately looking around, trying to locate anyone that he knows out here on 

the street who could conceivably show Imelda around. He has a package under one arm. He’s got some business he has to attend to. He really does NOT want to take her on a tour. 

2 (Goldfinch): “Well, mayor or honorary mayor, it really doesn’t matter! I can still see that you’re clearly the best choice to introduce me to the wonders of your little town!” 

3 (Goldfinch, continued): “In point of fact, I have a small shopping list that I wonder… you might be able to give me a hand with?” 

1 (Weepe): “Um.. whaddya… kind of, trying to find, there, Miss Imelda?” 

2: She places a hand on his arm, beseeching him to wait as she rummages in her glassy, crystalline handbag… and comes out with a small, handwritten shopping list. “Well, obviously number one is light bulbs! You understand, I only just arrived last night during Fold. You know, and it was my, well, my first Fold! And I’ve been told that it’s vital that I get a month’s supply of light bulbs, at least, to have on hand, in my home at all times! And I was hoping you could…” 

1 (Weepe): “Oh, yeah, that’s gonna be important to you, yes.”

2 (Goldfinch): “Yes, it’s… you can understand. It’s a bit nerve-wracking to someone who’s new to all this! But I’m determined to do it right!” 

1: Mr. Weepe sees her list. There are light bulbs and tea. That is all she wants. He knows exactly where to get both of those things, and he realizes the best way to get rid of her is to just take her to the damn store at the base of the mountain. “Hey! Come right this way,” he says. “I’ll be happy to show you right around. Come along.” He shoots an elbow out to her and—almost sucking her into his grip—begins capering off down the road at top speed. 

[A jaunty drum beat begins to play.] 

2 (Goldfinch): “…and the second thing that—oh, thank you so much—the second thing that I need is tea!” 

1 (Weepe): “Oh, I know just the thing! Do you drink tea in the morning? I always drink coffee, black, without anything in it! Usually maybe barely even some water. What about you, Imelda, Miss Imelda?” 

2 (Goldfinch): “You know, that is delightful! Why, I, myself, quite prefer a very heavy dose of 

tea or coffee—whichever the case may be! Uh, no, but I actually like to have it on hand for when visitors come to my new Mission. You do understand, I presume, the principles of a Mission… what someone from the Trust, such as myself—a Notary—am doing here on Stationary Hill?” 

1: Man, this woman is irritating. Weepe is just spidering along, windmilling along at top speed, winding down the road, saying to her, “No, I don’t presume to know anything about, um, THAT. But I AM in the business of hospitality, Miss Imelda. Not being mayor, I’m instead one of the operators of THAT building right there.” He points to the Black Candle Cabaret, which they are whizzing by. 

2 (Goldfinch) “Oh, I noticed that when I came into town!” 

1 (Weepe): “Yeah, I’m sure you did. Pretty prominent operation.” 

2 (Goldfinch): “It’s so classy! Yes, it really stands out.”

1 (Weepe): “Oh, yes, very! Highly sophisticated. One of the things we always do—we don’t really serve tea—but I know what you mean! You want somebody to come to your place of 

business! What you do—” 

2 (Goldfinch, overlapping): “Exactly, I want people to feel right at home!” 

1 (Weepe, continued): —is you give them something to drink and then they shut up and they sit down and they take whatever it is you got to give him, am I right, Miss Imelda?” 

2 (Goldfinch): “Oh, you! Well, that’s the gist of it, I suppose!” 

1: Mr. Weepe is feeling a dark mania taking hold of his mind. This woman is a nightmare. She is one of those Trustees who believes in… well, WHATEVER it is that all those people believe in. Look at her: she is covered in glassy crystalline armor. She is wearing a SASH made out of her own… well, whatever that thing is. 

2: Her own “goodness.” 

1: Yes, it’s her Abacus. He knows that she is a ridiculous zealot, and he does not want her here. Does not want to be talking to her. But… she is FUN. Oh, she is fun! She is very fun! 

2: His attitude has quickly changed from annoyance to flabbergasted-ness? is that a thing? Well, he experienced that, and now he feels this sort of manic resolve to… get… to, to… UNSETTLE HER! She cannot be unsettled! She just responds to every one of his strange mannerisms with wide-eyed, dazzling dimples! 

1: Propelling himself (and her) down the road at top jaunty speed, Mr. Weepe decides, well, here we go! Might as well just go whole-hog here. [As Weepe:] “Yeah, that’s a strip club that I operate. I run a strip club, Miss Imelda! A lot of women take off their clothes there!” 

3 (Goldfinch): “Valor, as you know, is not by any stretch a moral compass! It purely commodifies the ‘good’ intrinsic to ALL actions and ALL beings!”

1 (Weepe): “Oh, yeah, I think I knew all about that, Miss Imelda! There are a lot of people here… you know what? It’s really good that you’re here!” He claps his hand around her shoulder, briefly, before cinching it back through her elbow. “There’re so many misguided souls here, Miss Imelda. People who would, I think, be served well by your admirable moral compass!” He glances at her to see if she’s taking this. 

2 (Goldfinch): “Oh, well, I wouldn’t have put it so bluntly, myself, but I can see that we’re on the same page. I would have worded it more that… I see so much untapped POTENTIAL 

everywhere I look! All these good deeds that are just going completely unnoticed! Completely unrewarded! And, oh, I just want to help! I wish my Mission was built already!” 

1: The town around them is a bustling scene of progress in industry and human endeavor. Mr. Weepe, realizing this, says to her: “Imelda, the town around us is a bustling scene of industry and progress and human endeavor! There is nothing more important here than, I think, the will and the goodness of those here on Midst and in Stationary Hill. Is it… is that what brings you to this untapped, wonderful field of possibility?” 

2 (Goldfinch): “Precisely! You said it!” 

1 (Weepe): “I thought so! I always think to myself: THAT’S what we need! We need somebody like you, Miss Imelda. We gotta really have somebody who knows what the fuck is going on and who can do something about it!” 

2 (Goldfinch): “Well!” 

1: She is bundling along down the road. That’s not even the right word, but it creates the right visual descriptor. You don’t really “bundle.” But she does! She is just… GOING! Trucking along with him as they go down the road. 

2: She sort of looks like a bird that’s been preening itself and is just getting more and more and more puffed up and cozy-looking and just ever-so-pleased with itself! 

1: Oh, man, this is the worst thing that has ever happened to Moc Weepe! This is… 2: He’s having a great time.

1: This is a disaster. 

2: It’s awful. 

1: Oh, boy! [As Weepe:] “Hey!” He starts smoking a cigarette. He’s got that. He sort of throws his coat off of one shoulder and is jouncing along. 

3 (Goldfinch): “You mentioned all of the untapped potential of Midst and, in particular, Stationary Hill, Mr. Weepe. And that is PRECISELY why I am here. Why…” 

1 (Weepe): “Tell me about it, Imelda. Please, I’m very interested to know more about your 

operations!” 

3 (Goldfinch): “It is vital to understand that the good deeds that your kindly citizens do—while excellently-intended—could potentially be having unintended side-effects in the greater 

scheme of good and evil in the universe at large. Hence, my presence as Notary!” 

1: Mr. Weepe is ready for whatever is about to come. She is about to give some kind of speech. She’s fiddling in her handbag. She’s… she’s clearly looking for something… probably something for HIM. Probably one of those damn HANDBOOKS that these people always carry. 

2: Yep, it’s a handbook. She withdraws this simply-printed, saddle-stitched little printed booklet and thrusts it at him, merrily. 

3 (Goldfinch): “Why, if I may quote: ‘A misinformed act of perceived kindness or good… could wreak devastating havoc upon the greater systems of the universe. To alleviate this entropy, Notaries (such as myself) are assigned to attend communities, work sites, and Islets as representatives of the Trust.” 

2 (Goldfinch, continued): “Here! You can have this! Your very own copy of the Trustee Handbook! Oh, unless you have one already?” 

1: They have briefly stopped walking. (SHE has stopped walking.) He comes up short. She bears upon her face a glorious grin, and is holding up to him in both hands this little damned brown book that says ‘Trustee Handbook.’

2: (That’s ‘trustee’ spelled with two ‘E’s.) 

1: This is, of course, a ripe opportunity for a joke. Mr. Weepe goes for it. “Hey thanks for this TRUSTY handbook!” he says “Huehuehue!” [Laughter.] Imelda has heard this joke so many times. 

2: She loves it every time she hears it. 

1 (Weepe): “I will love to read this literature in the evening over a glass of cognac!” 

2 (Goldfinch): “Ah! Well, I hope you do! And if you have any questions, you can stop by the Mission in a few days once it’s finished and ask me about it!” 

1: He zips through the book, just flipping through it flipbook-style with his thumb, catching sight of one header, actually, that—to be quite honest—brings him up briefly very short. It has to do with… well, it has to do with MONEY, which is something that, well, Mr. Weepe understands. But it zips by rather quickly, and the book flips shut into his other hand. He clasps it, tosses it into his coat’s inner pocket and—jabbing that elbow back out to her—says: “Well, Miss Imelda, there’s nothing I would like more… now that you understand my line of work as an owner of this disreputable institution—” he gestures up the hill to where the Black Candle cabaret is receding into the morning haze “—I would like to know more about this [handbook]. Please tell me… as we walk to the place where I will show you… you can buy all the lightbulbs and tea your heart desires…” 

2 (Goldfinch): “All that?” 

1 (Wepe): “I am a businessman. I love to invest in various operations. I’m somewhat of a 

venture capitalist.” 

2 (Goldfinch): “Yes, I can see that!” 

1 (Weepe): “How does one go about investing in the Trust? Something has been on my mind a little bit, and I think to myself every morning: damn, I just wish there was a Notary around so I could have a conversation about this subject!” 

3: Though Moc Weepe is a very astute and observant individual, he does NOT notice

the flicker of divine excitement that thrills across Imelda’s face. Behind her glassy eyes and those pronounced dimples and the Pollyanna curls, a number of gears suddenly shift into place… and a complex machine begins to tick over in her mind. 

2: At this point, they’ve made their slow, meandering, inefficient progress down the dusty, unpaved road and are just now reaching the edge of the mountain peak… where, suddenly, a vast vista—a view of Vermilion County—is spread out before them in all its glory. Imelda immediately loses her train of thought and gasps, pressing a hand into her chest (carefully, so as not to injure herself on her stiff jacket). “Oh! My word! Would you just…! I’ve never been in such a wide-open space in my entire life, you know! Back home, oh, everything’s rather enclosed. It HAS to be, because… one shard of mica floats through the room and… Whoops! Off goes someone’s head! But, oh, THIS is really, really lovely!” 

3 (Goldfinch): “How you must enjoy living in a scenic place such as this!” 

1 (Weepe): “Yeah, it takes some getting used to. I also came from a rather different place before this. But, then again, everybody here in Stationary Hill is a bit of an immigrant, as a rather new settler who has arrived. I don’t know very many people here who’ve been here more than five or six years. I’ve only been here about, uh, six or seven. I’ve almost lost track, to be honest. But, yes, I know what you mean. It is a really, um… QUITE an inspiring scene the very first time I arrived!” 

3: In fact, down at the base of the hill, a sort of port is in full operation; large crystalline ships with massive systems of oars and fins are arriving and departing… laden or unladen, as the case may be, with imported wares brought to Midst from the Un. 

1 (Weepe): “All those ships? They bring all kinds of new people here all the time! It’s been a long time since I was on one of them. When I arrived here, well, that was the last time I was on board any kind of a craft.” 

2 (Goldfinch): “You’re… you’re from the Un?” 

1 (Weepe): “Uh, no, I was, uh, living down… down deep in the Fold.” 

2 (Goldfinch): “Oh, well, I was under the impression that everyone from the Fold came by… uh…” 

1 (Weepe): “Well, that’s where I was from originally. It’s a long story.”

2: She eyes his gleaming white skin with a fiery curiosity. “By the way… did… did THAT happen as a result of… well, that is, I’ve heard that the Fold can have certain unusual—” 

1 (Weepe): “Oh, yes—” he cuts her off at this point. That is not something he is usually accustomed to talking about and will NOT talk about now. He simply says to her, “Oh, yes, this was, um, some part of that. You know, something went a little bit wrong. But with YOU, with your light bulbs… they’re very safe. The Loxlee lights are very secure here in the Fold. They… they will keep you… very SAFE here in the darkness of the night. There will be nothing like this that happens to YOU.” 

2 (Goldfinch): “I suppose you didn’t have any light bulbs… LOXLEE-BRAND light bulbs… on hand when that happened to you?” 

1 (Weepe): “No,” is all he says. He sure as hell did NOT. 

[An ominous silence.] 

3 (Goldfinch): “I’m so glad you have Loxlee!” 

[Jazzy drumming resumes.] 

1: The energy of the whole conversation comes back up, and they are trucking down the hill. The shop is in sight. Weepe feels his heart racing. 

2: She’s yammering away about how she wasn’t sure if the General Store here would carry some off-brand light bulb… and would she have to deal with THAT, and really it would be fine, because ANY light bulb is better than NO light bulbs, but really she’d prefer to have Loxlee-brand light bulbs because they’re the very most well-respected light bulbs in the whole industry, and when one’s SAFETY is at stake, you don’t want to take any chances… 

1: This is a really irritating conversation. Mr. Weepe interrupts her as delicately as he can: “Hey, I just wanna check for you. Are you prepared to… I don’t know how you’re gonna buy anything at this shop. Don’t you… you don’t actually use any, um, to be frank… MONEY, do you?” (She doesn’t, presumably, right? She just uses whatever it is that she has all over her necklace?) 

2 (Goldfinch): “I appreciate your concern! I have been issued a per-diem amount of currency to spend until certain actions take place!”

1 (Weepe): “Oh, yes, once your new place of business there’s in operation, that should be really easy for you! Are you gonna get one of those big old machines installed?” 

2 (Goldfinch): “Oh, it’s already been shipped! it just needs to be hooked up!” 

1 (Weepe): “Really? You know what?” (This is actually a moment of REAL interest for Mr. Weepe.) “I’ve never actually seen one of those in person. Is it possible for me to maybe stop by one of these days?” 

2 (Goldfinch): “Well, of course! You just say the word! You’re welcome anytime!” 

1 (Weepe): “So once that’s in…” He is slowing down. This is… the shop is just there. He could drop her off in about 20 seconds, but Mr. Weepe is NEVER one to pass up an opportunity to learn more about lucrative business opportunities. He is saying to her, regarding the strange machine soon to be installed in her new Mission space: “You’ve been offered, uh, some MONEY so you can buy things here. Can I come, if I want to buy some things of, uh… you know, investments or something up there in the Un… is that a place I can come if I wanna convert some of my money to the… the…” He gestures to her sash of beads. 

3: And SHE gestures to the booklet in his inner pocket. [As Goldfinch:] “Why, yes, of COURSE, Mr. Weepe! Why, after all, Notaries have authority to issue Valor and are in constant communication with the Trust to ensure that the presence and creation of Valor across the universe exceeds the eternal flow of Caenum.” 

1: She has memorized this entire book cover-to-cover. No doubt. 

3 (Goldfinch): “But, please, I entreat you to come at your leisure to the Mission as soon as it is up and operational. I would be thrilled to discuss in detail your perusal of the Trustee Handbook!” 

1: They are barely walking now. The port is visible just about a quarter mile down a branch of the road off to one side—the small gaggle of buildings at the foot of the mountain just down a branch to the left. They are hanging back a little bit, still arm-in-arm, Mr. Weepe guiding her forward, but so slowly. He has something brewing. Something he needs to know. 

2: Several slow-moving carts laden with lumber and recently-arrived goods trundle past them on the track.

3: And standing in front of the General Store: a familiar figure. (Well, familiar to YOU, that is.) 

1: Not to Imelda Goldfinch, certainly. Familiar to Mr. Weepe. It is Fuze. You remember him? 

3: Mustache. Upside-down mouth. 

2: He’s got his morning newspaper rolled under one arm. 

1: He has just purchased it from the stand outside the very General Store that Mr. Weepe and Imelda Goldfinch are currently in route to. Mr. Weepe stops Imelda altogether, facing her full-on, his strange iridescent eyes glittering at her in the morning haze. “Miss Imelda.” 

3 (Goldfinch): “Yes, Mr. Weepe?” 

1 (Weepe): “If I was to make a charitable contribution to the Trust, I’m merely curious…” (Oh her eyes! Her eyes are on him. Ooh, this is good. This is precisely why she’s here.) [Weepe, continued:] “If I was to make a charitable contribution to the Trust,” he says, really working on his proposal, “what might be the EXCHANGE RATE?” 

2 (Goldfinch): “Well, even if I were to tell you what the exchange rate was today, it may be 

different tomorrow. It fluctuates in response to a VAST number of factors, you see.” 

1 (Weepe): “But in general it is always my understanding, of course, it is not in my FAVOR as an investor with, uh, you know, normal monies!” 

2 (Goldfinch): “Well, of course, Valor cannot be BOUGHT. But it may be INVESTED in.” 

3 (Goldfinch, continued): “…and I WILL say, the SOONER the BETTER, in this particular case.” 

2: She WINKS at him.

1: People milling around them in the streets. Industry circling, surrounding them. Ships whispering through the air overhead. [As Weepe:] “I assume, Miss Imelda, that if I were to invest, it would be acceptable if I simply wanted to do so for purely CHARITABLE reasons? Not because I was attempting to do something necessarily Valorous—not being a member of the Trust, myself?” 

2 (Goldfinch): “Donation of resources to the Trust is viewed to be an intrinsically Valorous endeavor!” 

1 (Weepe): “That is music to my ears, Miss Imelda—and something I would like to discuss with you further. And also, at time of same, to follow up with you about how much you enjoy your new tea.” 

2 (Goldfinch): [Giggles, pleased.] 

1: The store is just there. Fuze looks up from his newspaper. “Mr. Fuze,” Moc Weepe says, raising a dangling skeletal, hand, “Come over here! I have someone for you to meet.” 

2: That delightful gentleman perks right up and scurries over. 

3 (as Mr. Fuze): “Mister Weepe! How good to see you! And on a beautiful day, no less!” 

1: Imelda takes in Fuze. A look of… oh, something… something very complicated! Here is clearly a man disfigured by…” 

2: (…for, of course, she notices the upside-down mouth right away… mustache or no.) 

1: …clearly a man in a shabby suit. Clearly a man lacking substantial means. Clearly a man 

in need of her charitable aid! She takes to him immediately. 

2 (Goldfinch): “Mr. Fuze, was it? Oh, how charming! I’m Imelda Goldfinch, your new Notary!” 

1 (Weepe): “I’m pleased to introduce the both of you! Miss Imelda, I think you will find Fuze a most excellent guide. He is, in many ways, more of the mayor of Stationary Hill than I could ever possibly hope to be.”

2 (Goldfinch): “Is that so?” 

1 (Weepe): “Fuze, would you care to show Miss Imelda around? She was just coming here to the shop to buy a bit of tea and a couple of light bulbs for her new house because she has recently moved in.” 

3 (Fuze): “Why, it would be my pleasure! Please, this way Miss Goldfinch!” 

1: He, too, shoots out a jaunty elbow to her, which she accepts gracefully. [As Weepe:] “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Imelda. I am quite certain I will see you again. And I will pay you a visit at your new Mission once it is open.” 

2 (Goldfinch): “Fabulous! Well, I’ll see you there! Ta-ta!” 

1(Weepe): “Cheerio, then!” Mr. Weepe turning away, and Fuze and Imelda circling off towards the front door of the store. 

3 (Fuze, to Imelda Goldfinch): “Why, you know, I have met MANY Notaries in my day, but none of them were quite as charming or love—if you pardon the expression—LOVELY to look at as yourself, Miss Goldfinch!” 

2 (Goldfinch): [Giggles delightedly.] 

1: And Mr. Weepe is gone, spidering back up the hill towards the Black Candle Cabaret as fast as his gangly legs will carry him, his coat blowing in the breeze, Trustee Handbook in his coat pocket, package under his arm, his mind AFIRE with new business opportunities—buzzing with a plan to orchestrate a VERY lucrative transaction.